Art P. Dog


It was a surprise to me that you'd solicit - I hardly recognized you in the short skirt, stilleto heels and heavy makeup - and even more of a surprise that you'd solicit any written things from me. I was so happy that I couldn't sit down for a while. I ran around from room to room in my house and made a lot of noise (see below). Here are several written things in response to your generous offer. Or perhaps it was a request.

I have been writing things for about two years now. Or fourteen years. I have been a dog for six years, but that's forty two to you and me. During the day I am A Good Dog, who sits in the corner, comes when called, fetches for people (over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again), does tricks (over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again) and is well behaved while rambunctious youngsters twist his tail (over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again). The saving grace of what I do during the day is this: since none of the people where I am during the day expect me to do or be anything more than a dog, what I do is okay, and I am Good. If I was anything more than a dog, I might get depressed that I went to human school for nearly ten years (but that's forty to you and me) just to be a dog.

One of my tricks that amuses people a whole lot is to type things on computer keyboards. I do it a lot (over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again). I can fetch with computers (over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again). My literary breakthrough came with my discovery of the backspace key. I can try and try and try and try and try and try to paw the right key, and erase any mistakes. Then I bury what I write until it smells ripe. Then I either write it again or I play with it and bury it again. Until you offered me the opportunity to use it to mark your place so it would smell a little like mine.

Axiomatically faithful,

Art P. Dog

This and any additional texts associated with it are copyright 1995 by Art P. Dog. Any violation of copyright will be ruthlessly persecuted with nasty messes on the carpet and plaintive whining at around 2:00 AM when you're trying to sleep.


Copyright © 1995 by Bill Running